Flymaggedon

Has anyone else on the Coast noticed that it’s Flymaggedon?

There are flies everywhere!

This morning at our outdoor training session they had no shame, nor good manners, as they hitched a free-ride on the backs of our group of active-wear ladies. We each carried at least ten of the free-loaders as we ran up Alex Hill, with our trainer wearing a veritable back-pack of the hairy wee beasts (show-off). It was like being on the Biggest Loser where the trainers load up the contestants with pockets containing all of the weight they had lost and make them climb a mountain in New Zealand, but we weren’t in New Zealand, and these buzzing menaces were not quite so easy to cast off at each pit stop. I reckon we each burnt off a few extra kilos with our incessant waving which was necessary to keep the flies from using our faces as a landing strip – we were all waving so much people were beginning to suspect we were royalty.

They clung on as we did our step-ups, our lunges, our press-ups, and triceps dips. It was like we had been bedazzled with little black gemstones as we ran down the stairs and then back up again. I swiftly warned the others not to run with their mouths open – lest they swallow a fly, then have to follow that up with a cocktail of spider, and bird, and dog etc. we all know how that story ends…, and really I am rather fond of my Monday morning buddies.

When I arrived home from work this afternoon, the nosey little blighters came to check the mailbox with me – probably trying to see whether there was that big fat cheque from Gold Lotto so they could wrap their sticky little feet around my winnings – dirty money. They offered to help me carry my handbag and lunchbox back inside, but as I opened my car boot I was confronted by a swarm of miniature flies clustering around the tail-light – obviously waiting for some kind of fly rave party to begin or perhaps re-creating a scene from the Amityville Horror…

I ran screaming (ok, so maybe it was more like rattling off a few choice expletives quietly under my breath) into the house and selected my weapon of war – a large, and lethal can of fast-acting Mortein and sent those little suckers to Fly Valhalla without delay. I was like a maniac, unleashed from my shackles spraying willy nilly at anything that moved (whoops, sorry to the elderly lady dropping off the home shopping catalogue – I hope you didn’t inhale too much and I’m certain those uncontrollable leg movements will dissipate soon).

As I retreated to the relative sanctuary of my home, I gave a silent thanks to whomever had invented fly-screens as they clawed at the windows like zombies trying to get inside to fly up my nostrils or buzz around my ears.

All I can say is that there must have been a lot of amorous mummy and daddy flies getting’ jiggy with it a couple of weeks ago…dirty little beggars – buzz off!